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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976169">fighting with the melody</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Blackout Club (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Multi, Porn With Plot, dubcon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:16:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,632</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Super self indulgent smut fic because there's not enough. Am realizing this is turning into it's own story, oops. Will update tags while I go. </p><p>All characters are over 18. </p><p>You left Redacre all those years ago but have been recruited to help out a certain organization. How much has it changed, really?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucids (The Blackout Club)/Reader, Original Character(s)/Reader, SPEAK-AS-ONE (The Blackout Club)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>fighting with the melody</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You never expected to come back to Redacre. Honestly. Truly. And yet... Lo and behold, where did you find yourself? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Back in this shitty town.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wasn't of your own will, of course. Never in a million years would it be. You had enough bad memories to fill the damn Library of Congress once, maybe twice over. Things your therapists would never believe, nor would they even acknowledge - unless it meant willingly submitting yourself to an institution, to get the "help" that you "so desperately" "needed". Yeah. Right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But there was business to attend to. And you learned to not let things fester, not here. Never here. Because it would always twist and turn and change into someone else's problem, and you happened to be the someone else in this case. And, of course, since you already had a lay of the land, they had to ask <em>you</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"We just need some... updates," one had said. "If what you know still holds true, then there will be no issue. But we can't risk sending in someone with no knowledge at all. And since you don't know a lot about us..." Then if you got caught, nothing useful could be tortured out of you. Of course. It was no dumb decision but it still pissed you off to no end. Especially since you hadn't talked to these guys in forever. Though... you supposed you owed them. You had to. They had busted you out in the first place, a miracle in itself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Over the past few weeks you had worked on preparations for getting back to town. Maps scrawled with what little intel they had and what little more you could offer, knowledge fuzzed and dulled by time. A van, cliche as it seemed, decked out to give you a home base, should you need it. Talking to work and friends, roommates... They had been very intent on you leaving not a trace. The cover? 'Going to backpack in Europe with an old relative!' As if they would buy that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And yet they accepted it, at the very least, and that was that. It really didn't take longer than a week to be ready. The extra days were you procrastinating it all, debating if it was really worth it to throw everything away to help out some organization that would sound batshit if you were a normal and sane person. They couldn't make you. Of course not. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the guilt of not knowing what happened to the Club and your family was enough to convince you.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The drive would have been fun if you had company. It would have been shorter, too, being able to switch drivers, but you were enjoying every moment that you weren't in the town. Landmarks, tourist traps, bathroom and gas breaks... you tried to stretch them out for as long as you could. It only worked so much, because eventually you were set on the mountain roads, where your cell service began to grow strained. Isolation was quick to crawl in and settle around you - here, there were no cars. No delivery trucks, no semis, no nothing. Just you and the trees and the mountains, looming over you. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You had to stop at one point. Pull over to a scenic view, get out of the van, and think real hard. You checked your phone, reading through the messages wishing you luck on your trip from the dear ones in your life. You could say the trip got cancelled. They would never know. They would never have to know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You would never have to find out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Throwing yourself off the cliff was more palatable than going back to Redacre. That should have said everything to you. <em>Everything</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But after a few minutes, you got back in your van, sending off a text before you continued to drive.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">     almost there.</span> </em>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">God, you hated it here, you really did. Nothing felt different.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You decided, to scope out, that your best choice would be to drive through the town during the day. See the surface level changes, before trying to go deeper. Deeper into... the Maze. The faint recollection makes you shiver. No. That anxiety would be for later. It had to be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The whole day thankfully goes off without a hitch. You play the part of a young and clueless traveller, trying to get to Whereverthefuck for some family gathering, in need of a place to get some gas and directions. And maybe a shower. That last part is genuine; you reek of fast food and B.O., and you're sure some of the people you talk to can tell. If they're not outright ignoring you because you're in a dingy old van trying to lean out of your window to ask where to go. You made sure to cut that out quickly, of course. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It doesn't take too much digging but you find a cute little tourist center, complete with a community tack board that has advertisements for all sorts of things on it. Town meetings, clubs, lost pets... The nostalgia hits you like a truck, and you, out of impulse, close your eyes in the direction of the lost cat. You don't know if the disappointment is necessary when you don't see anything. These kids have lost their luster. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You hope there's kids.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There's a little plastic bucket nailed to the board and it thankfully has one last map of the town inside, squished down to the bottom. A good find. You go back to your car and drive it around to sit in the empty parking lot nearby to get a good look of the map, and, of course, you snap as many pictures as you think necessary. They would want this if your theory of them being too chickenshit to poke around was correct. But you could also use it to track the Maze... </span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You decide to stop at a modern looking diner that's by a retro looking gas station. You were getting looks while you filled your tank, and they don't ease up as you head inside. It makes you antsy. No one could recognize you, could they? You had changed so drastically from when you were younger. No. They were staring because you were a stranger. You remind yourself that you used to do the same exact thing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The waitress you get is a little younger than you, bright and cheery as she hands you a plastic menu and explains the specials of the day. She seems all too eager to talk to an outsider, too, which is helpful enough. You place your order and slouch in your seat, thinking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This diner had been rebranded. It used to match with the gas station next door, meant to look like some tacky 50's gimmicky place, but the decor is different now. It looks more akin to a coffee shop you would see in the city - dark walls, small tables meant to seat as many people as possible while still allowing room if the patron wanted to do paperwork, a big open counter with the espresso machines - and it makes you uneasy. Different, but the same. You would come here with friends for breakfast when night missions had been rough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"So, what brings you here, anyhow?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The waitress is back, setting down a mug on the laminate wood before pouring some piping hot coffee into it. She also has milk and other goodies balanced on a cute little plate for you. You can't stare. She's already doing it and you want to be as unknown as possible.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh, just need to get my bearings," you muse, taking a swig of coffee. It burns. You don't care. "Family is having a wedding in the mountains, but I've never been around these parts." </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Oh, no! Do you know where exactly it's supposed to be?" </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Your eye twitches but you brush it off with a nervous laugh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I had the address all set up in my phone, but as soon as I started through all the forests, my service just... completely cut off! I should stick to the paper maps from now on. A learning experience."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"That's rough." She's taken a seat across from you, watching you intensely. "We're pretty far out of the way. How did you even manage?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Followed the signs I came across."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Ah."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You don't like her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Hey, you don't happen to... well, I'm a little embarrassed asking, but... you don't happen to know where someone could get a shower? I've been driving nonstop for a while."</span>
</p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You're out of town before the daylight even begins to dim. The girl had suggested a hotel to stay the night at, but instead you decided to stop by a campground and sneak into their showers. Classy, as ever.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You drive out as far as you need to in order to get service, which is, unfortunately, pretty far out. You haven't been the only one with this idea - theres pretty heavily used tire tracks that lead deep into the forest, and you decide to use the opportunity to hide your car for a while. You could get a nap and recharge before tonight, and send the images and touch bases with your "friends"... </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">You do exactly that. They're not very impressed with the maps ("We have so many of those!") but they're satisfied with your idea to mark them with the structure of the Maze. You tell them to check your car in the morning, too, if anyone is even close enough, so that they can make sure you're not dead. They can't do shit but it feels nice to know that they're at least going to check.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And since it's all squared away, you finally lean your seat all the way back and fall into an uneasy sleep. </span>
</p>
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